| I come from the mountains, Kentucky’s my home,
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| Where the wild deer and the black bear so lately did wrong.
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| By the cool rushing waterfall, the wild flowers dream,
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| And through every green valley there runs a clear stream.
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| Now there’s scenes of destruction on every hand,
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| And only black water runs down through my land.
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| Sad scenes of destruction on every hand,
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| Black waters, black waters run down through my land.
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| Oh, the queen, she’s a pretty bird, she sings a sweet tune,
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| In the roots of dark timber she nests with her young.
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| Then the hill side explodes with a dynamite’s roar,
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| And the voice of the small bird is heard there no more.
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| Then the mountain comes tumbling so awful and grand,
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| As the poison black waters run down through my land.
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| Sad scenes of destruction on every hand,
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| Black waters, black waters run down through my land.
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| In the coming of the spring time we planted our corn,
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| In the ending of the spring time we buried our son.
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| In the summer come a nice man, says everything’s fine,
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| My employer just requires a way to his mine.
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| Then he blew down the timber, covered my corn
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| And the grave on the hillside’s a mile deeper down.
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| And the man stands and talks with his hat in his hand
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| As the poison black waters rise over my land.
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| Sad scenes of destruction on every hand,
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| Black waters, black waters run down through my land.
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| Now I don’t have much money, not much of a home,
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| I own my own land, but my land’s not my own.
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| But if I had ten million somewhere’s there abouts,
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| I’d buy a pair of county and I’d drive them all out.
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| Then I’d sit on the bank with my babe and my can
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| And watch the clean waters run down through my land.
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| Oh, and that would be just like the old promised land,
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| Black waters, black waters no more in my land.
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| Black waters, black waters no more in my land. |